In the Garden of Seduction

by Cynthia Wicklund

  “I’ve told you, Miss James, I like you. I’m worried you might make a mistake.”

  “You dare tell me how to avoid mistakes?”

  “Calm yourself, Miss James. It’s clear that Morley is not right for you. Actually, I think he is more compatible with Miss Ingram.”

  Forgetting her desire to be angry with him, Cassandra leapt on his statement. “You’ve noticed it, also?”

  “They are the opposing sides of the same coin. Meant for one another in my humble opinion.” There was no mistaking the irony in the marquess’ voice.

  “If only Grandfather would see reason, but Roger will not help me.” In her enthusiasm, she grabbed hold of his arm.

  “Do you think Roger is aware of his own feelings?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the slim fingers clutching his coat.

  Cassandra drew back her hand. “He has admitted as much to me though he feels nothing can be done about it.”

  Lord Sutherfield pulled on the reins, bringing the carriage to a halt, and turned on the seat to face her. “Maybe I can help.”

  “How?”

  “I could pretend to be taken with Miss Ingram. Maybe a little competition is the very push Mr. Morley needs.”

  Cassandra was not sure she liked that idea. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “There’s no guarantee that Penelope will be interested.”

  “It’s not her interest that will worry Morley.” He grinned shrewdly. “It’s mine.”

  “It’s not right to toy with another’s emotions, my lord. Penelope is not my favorite relative, but I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “If all goes well, Miss Ingram will be very grateful to us both. In this instance we will have to agree the end justifies the means.” He raised his brows at her. “It is, of course, only a suggestion.”

  “Yes, well…you could be right.” All at once she was nervous, for he was watching her through smoky, half-lidded eyes. When he did that her thoughts scattered.

  “You are especially fetching today, Miss James.” His gaze turned blacker, dropping to her parted lips.

  A sensuous smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and she stared in fascination as his perfect white teeth grazed his bottom lip.

  He was going to kiss her, and she suddenly found the idea very exciting. Was she disconcerted by the talk of wooing Penelope? She closed her eyes.

  Several tension-filled moments passed as Cassandra waited for the marquess to perform as she expected. When nothing happened, she peeked through her lashes. He was peering into her tilted face, wearing a pleased look.

  Cassandra felt her body flush with humiliation. If her foot had not been injured, she would have jumped out of the curricle and run the rest of the way home. She must have looked as if that was her intention, for the marquess reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “Here now—” he began.

  “Take me home, Lord Sutherfield.”

  “Miss James, I’m sorry. I was merely enjoying the view.”

  “I said take me home.”

  She could not look at him, instead staring straight ahead. Cassandra sensed rather than saw him grasp the reins, and the carriage lurched forward as the marquess once again set the horses into motion. Mercifully, he remained silent.

  Five minutes later they reached their destination but it could have been forever, for that was how long it seemed to Cassandra.

  Again, Lord Sutherfield spoke. “Miss James…Cassandra…”

  She swung in his direction and glared at him. “That is the last liberty you will take with me today, my lord. I have not given you permission to use my name, and now I think I never shall. For the sake of decency let me go so I don’t further disgrace myself.”

  “Do you wish me to help you inside?” he asked her quietly.

  He looked as though he regretted his earlier behavior, but it was too late. If he touched her now she would begin to weep, and she would despise herself even more. It was her fault, she thought miserably. He had made her feel foolish on more than one occasion. Anyone as gullible as she deserved what came to her.

  “The footman will help me.”

  Cassandra waved over the young man at the front entrance, and when he reached the carriage she climbed down into his arms. Lord Sutherfield mercifully refrained from offering any assistance. The butler opened the door, and she disappeared into the house to nurse her battered ego.

  *****

  Cassandra dabbed impatiently at the moisture on her brow. She had been sitting in the blazing sun in an open carriage for nearly an hour, her only company the coachman. She was growing angrier by the moment.

  This was her first outing since the picnic, Roger escorting Penelope and Cassandra to the local village. But two hours of walking made her foot swell. Unwilling to risk further damage, she had offered to sit in the landaulet until Penelope could complete her purchases. It seemed her cousin was in no hurry.

  Two weeks had passed since the picnic when Cassandra had quarreled with the Marquess of Sutherfield. Even now she flushed with shame when she remembered how she had fallen into his trap. Cassandra wondered if she could ever forgive him. What did it matter? He had probably gone back to London and forgotten her.

  She glared at the shop across the street where Penelope had entered thirty minutes before. At that moment the door opened and her female cousin emerged, followed by Roger who teetered under a load of packages. Penelope waved and sailed into another shop. Roger sent Cassandra a look of apology before turning and stumbling after the petite blonde.

  And there, Roger, is the rest of your life. Sighing, she asked, “Are you as tired of waiting as I am, Fenn?”

  The coachman swung around to look at her. “Just doing my job, miss. Sometimes that includes waiting.” He shrugged his shoulders, however, his expression was one of sympathy.

  “It’s so warm,” she complained.

  “I think we’ll be on our way soon.” Fenn motioned toward the couple now crossing the street.

  Sure enough, Penelope and Roger were returning. Cassandra smiled but was once again angered when she realized that her cousins were merely depositing their packages in the carriage in preparation for another foray on the shops.

  “Roger’s been so gallant,” Penelope gushed. “I’ve two more places I want to visit and he has promised to carry my packages. I don’t know what I would have done without him.” She bustled back across the street and into the haberdashery.

  “Roger,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth, “I want to go home. I don’t care how you do it, but convince Penelope that she wants to go home as well. I’ve been patient long enough.”

  Her cousin gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously up and down his throat. “Of course, my dear. I’ll see if I can hurry her up. It is sultry out here.”

  Now there was an understatement, Cassandra thought. She watched as her cousin retraced his steps, and ten minutes later Penelope came stomping out of the shop, a sheepish Roger in tow.

  “That’s most unsporting of you to bring an end to my shopping, Cassandra,” she said, reaching the vehicle. “After all, my foot is quite all right.”

  “Let’s be thoughtful, Pen. It’s an awfully hot day,” Roger said. “The sun is turning Cassandra’s cheeks pink.”

  “I can see you are correct,” Penelope responded spitefully. “Being a redhead…how dreadful.” She clambered into the carriage with Roger’s help and, once seated, crossed her arms militantly over her bosom.

  Oh lord, now they would be treated to one of Penelope’s sulks. Cassandra winked at Roger in commiseration, for he looked dejected. As a rule she had little in common with her cousin, but today she felt sorry for him.

  Roger gave her a halfhearted smile then turned his attention to his fingernails. Since neither cousin showed any desire to talk to her, she sat back and enjoyed the ride.

  Several minutes out of the village Cassandra yelled at Fenn to stop the carriage. Something on the side of the road had captured her attention and, before the vehicle came to a comp
lete halt, she stood ready to descend.

  “Cassie, what are you doing?” Roger asked.

  “Help me, please. We passed something back there, and I want to see what it is.”

  “I thought your foot hurt you, cousin,” Penelope put forth.

  Cassandra grimaced at her. “It does but I’m still going to have a look.”

  Roger helped her out of the landaulet. Lifting her skirts, she trotted down the dusty road. Her foot did hurt. Cassandra felt a twinge in it each time her sole came in contact with the ground, but she did not pause.

  She stopped and peered down into the tall grasses at the edge of the road. Something was there. She knelt beside what appeared to be a small bundle of clothing. The bundle moved and a cry tore from her throat. Sobbing as though his heart would break lay a tiny heap of fragile humanity curled into a tight ball.

  “You poor little thing,” Cassandra exclaimed, her voice breaking at the sound of the pathetic weeping. “What has happened to you?”

  Roger, who had followed, came upon her. “What is it, Cassie?”

  “Oh, Roger, it’s a little boy.” She stood up. “I think he’s been hurt. Have Fenn move the carriage here so we can get him to a doctor.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  Cassandra spun around to look at him. Roger was staring at her in repulsion, and for a moment she could not speak.

  “Why would you refuse to help?”

  “He’s a filthy little beggar boy. I strongly suggest you do not touch him. He might have vermin. Come, it’s time for us to return home.” He backed away then turned and started toward the carriage.

  Cassandra came to her feet and sent a look of sheer loathing at Roger’s retreating back. She had to restrain the urge to run behind him, using her fists to pommel him on the head and shoulders.

  She would have tried to reason with him, but in that moment she realized he was not worth the effort. Picking up her skirts again, she limped to the landaulet, passing Roger on the road. Her foot had begun to throb in earnest.

  “Fenn,” she called, “there is a small boy who has been hurt. I want you to move the carriage back there so we can pick him up more easily.”

  “I forbid it,” Roger stated as he came to stand next to her.

  “And I will tell you, Mr. Morley, if you cannot be of help, get out of the way,” Cassandra snapped at him. “Fenn, please do as I ask.”

  The coachman looked first at his young mistress and then at Roger. He scarcely hesitated before setting the horses into a backward motion.

  “Now see here,” Roger insisted, but no one was listening. Cassandra raced to the injured child, ignoring the shouts of protest that emanated from the landaulet. Not only was Roger upbraiding her from the road, now that Penelope knew what was going on, she had joined in.

  “I’m not riding with that disreputable creature,” she yelled.

  Cassandra pinned her with a look as Fenn brought the vehicle to a halt. “That’s too bad, cousin, for you will find it a long walk home.”

  “Well, I never!” Penelope sputtered, her face flushing a dull red.

  After that Cassandra ignored both her cousins, turning her attention to the child. He had stopped crying and was watching her with something akin to awe. Great blue eyes stared out at her from a pitifully thin, pallid face. He appeared to be about six years of age with nearly white hair, and he was extremely dirty. But beneath all the pain and filth lurked the most beautiful child she had ever seen.

  “Can you stand?” she asked him gently.

  “I was on me feet ‘til I got here,” he said.

  Tears clouded Cassandra’s vision with his attempt at bravado. “Come on, let’s see about getting you into the carriage over there.” She reached down and took his arm to help him from the ground.

  A piercing scream caused her to stiffen in shock. The child’s features were contorted with agony, and then she noticed the odd angle of his scrawny arm. Cassandra drew back and covered her mouth in dawning horror.

  “Fenn,” she spoke through a throat thick with emotion, “please help me. I’m not strong enough to get him into the carriage without hurting him further. I’ll climb in and you can hand him to me.”

  This time the burly servant did not hesitate. “Yes, miss,” he said, lumbering down from his bench. After seeing his mistress settled into her seat, he turned to the boy.

  Cassandra watched as the huge man with the meaty hands stooped over and tenderly picked up the injured child. He closed the distance between himself and the carriage in a half dozen easy strides. The boy moaned feebly as Fenn placed him on the seat next to her, and she and the coachman shared a look fraught with pity.

  The servant was moved, and that brought her own emotions to the fore. Over and over she swallowed, hoping to stem the flood of tears that threatened to overcome her. She sighed as Fenn regained his seat, and the carriage with its new passenger once again rolled toward home.

  “There’s blood on the front of your dress,” Penelope said at last, breaking the stony silence. “Really, this is a most unpleasant development.”

  “Penelope,” Cassandra said, “I’m going to assume you are a better person than you sometimes appear. In the meantime I would rather we did not have speech.”

  That effectively ended all further communication. Just as well, Cassandra thought, for she was so disgusted with those two selfish people, she knew it would be impossible to be civil.

  The child moved restlessly. His little chin rested on his chest so only the top of his head was visible. She believed he was sleeping as his breathing had evened, only an occasional shuddering breath betraying his earlier tears.

  She did see some blood, although she didn’t know where it came from. Cassandra hoped his arm was the worst of his injuries. Every lurch of the carriage created by every dip and bump in the road made her cringe with sympathy for her small charge. Thankfully, they were almost home.

  *****

  Relief flooded Cassandra a short while later as the vehicle pulled onto her grandfather’s drive. Curious servants surrounded the landaulet within moments of their arrival, and an argument ensued over the identity of the child.

  “What is this disturbance?”

  Cassandra heard her grandfather before she saw him. His voice rose above the commotion, and the servants fell away from the carriage, allowing him to approach.

  “Oh, Uncle, I’m so glad you are here,” Penelope cried. “Isn’t this awful? We tried to tell Cassandra, but she would not listen.”

  Roger nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

  “What is awful?” the old man barked. He looked at his granddaughter and then the child. “Cassandra?”

  “We found this little boy by the side of the road. He was hurt…” She faltered when his features deepened into a fierce scowl.

  “Why did you bring him here?”

  She blinked. “What should I have done?”

  “Though this may sound cruel, you should not have taken it upon yourself to save the boy. I would have sent someone to see to him.”

  “But something might have happened to him in the meantime.” Cassandra could hardly believe he meant what he said.

  Her grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll not speak of it in front of the servants.” He turned to those who still lingered on the drive. “Does anyone know this child?”

  A groom at the back of the gathering raised his hand.

  “Yes, Patrick?”

  “Me and Joe here, we been talking.” Patrick motioned to the footman standing at his side. “We’re fairly certain that’s Mr. Bailey’s youngest son.”

  “Mr. Bailey?” the earl asked.

  “George Bailey—one of your tenants, milord—an ol’ sot, he is. Got more children than he can count and he’s beat ‘em all. Beat his wife, too.”

  Cassandra listened with growing dismay. She wondered suddenly if the boy knew what was being said. She looked down. Eyes, round and terrified, stared back at her. Two enormous tears collected on
his lids and slipped down his dirty cheeks, leaving salty trails.

  “I know Bailey.” Grandfather sounded regretful. “There’s nothing for it, we’ll have to take the lad home. Let his father see to him. This is not our affair.”

  “No,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “No, we mustn’t do that. We’ll be sending him back to the abuse.”

  “Get out of the carriage, Cassandra,” Grandfather demanded.

  She did not move, watching as Roger first climbed down from the landaulet and then helped Penelope descend. She brought her gaze to the earl.

  “At least let me see him home. I feel responsible.” She forced the words through stiff lips, for she hated pleading with him.

  Although he was displeased, she also sensed his unease with the situation. He examined her for so long her heart began to thud uncomfortably. He turned to Fenn.

  “Perhaps Mr. Bailey should see that we are aware of what has happened. My granddaughter’s presence should drive home that point.” He stepped back from the carriage. “Do not be long. It will be dark soon.”

  Cassandra and the coachman rode the short distance from the house to the main road without speaking. The only sound breaking the silence was the wheels of the carriage crunching over the pebble and dirt-covered drive. They came to the turn in the lane and she called out, requesting that Fenn stop the carriage.

  “Do you know where Mr. Stiles lives?”

  The coachman twisted on his seat to look at her. “Yes,” he said after a short pause.

  “That’s where I want you to take me.”

  “Miss, you’re going to get us in the worst kind of trouble. I can’t disobey my master.”

  “Fenn, if we take this child back to his father his very life might be in danger.”

  “I have a wife and children. I can’t risk losing my employment.”

  Cassandra sympathized with the coachman as he fought with his conscience. “It won’t come to that, Fenn,” she said. “I’ll take responsibility in the event our little detour comes to light. My grandfather can be a hard man but he’s fair. If you are let go, my father Quintin James will find you a position. I will not let you suffer for my disobedience.”